


turnabout

by Gildedstorm



Series: make a fury of me [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, at the very least, come on rkorya deserves a duel to the death on top of a dromund kaas skyscraper, tfw this betrayal is both inevitable and insulting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 16:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10416216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildedstorm/pseuds/Gildedstorm
Summary: If character is what you are in the dark, then loyalty is what you do when your Sith Lord is brought down by her master's trap.





	

“Please,” she hears Jaesa breathe above her, and then the feeling of her power coursing through her, pooling in her shoulders, her wrist, her lungs, searing like lightning and melting into her bones –

Rkorya jerks awake, scrabbling for her lightsaber and flinching as her entire arm protests and her bare fingers claw at dirt. For a dangerous moment she can’t remember what happened, where she is, and her _lightsaber is gone –_ but panic fades as memory filters in and she cuts off her instinctive reach to the Force. She’s _safe_ , or if not safe, at the very least not dead. That is more than what Baras wanted.

Everything _hurts_ and she wants to sink back into slumber, curl up and nurse her wounds. It’s a terribly weak impulse, the act of a child, but she feels adrift from all anchors and acutely _exposed_ , as if everything that made her Sith has been suddenly lost to her.

But it hasn’t. She still lives, and that means she has the advantage. Stifling her fear – given enough time, it will turn to rage, and _that_ she can use – she takes a deep breath, lets it out as slowly and deliberately as possible.

“Thank the Empire.” That’s Quinn, and slowly – she’s at least cracked her skull, and turning her head makes the pain redouble and flare down her spine – she turns to see Jaesa kneeling beside her, still pouring power into her. Quinn and Vette hover only a little beyond her, which makes Pierce and Broonmark the perimeter guard, both with weapons drawn and currently neglecting their duties to peer anxiously at her.

They need reassurance. They’ve never seen her so injured – not that she can remember the last time she’s been in such pain. Not since Korriban, surely....

“I’m fine,” she rasps, ignoring that she doesn’t _sound_ it. Jaesa scoffs, shifting over her to better direct her healing.

“Yeah? You look like a rancor chewed you up and spat you out,” Vette says, with a weak smile.

“Clearly it didn’t take kindly to me cutting off its tongue.” It’s a feeble joke, but it startles a shaky laugh out of her. Good.

“What _happened_ , my lord? This was just a simple mission, wasn’t it?” Quinn asks, and even Jaesa pauses, waiting for her answer.

The last thing Rkorya remembers is the grating sound of stone above her, her signal to the ship, screaming defiance as the trap closed. No, not _quite_ the last thing – an echo in the Force, two muffled voices speaking....

She hopes it actually happened. At the very least, it’s a clear goal: survive, get back to the Imperial outpost, hope whoever found her is still there, and not just a fevered dream from when she was trapped and half-conscious.

“It was a trap,” she says at last. “There were Republic soldiers, but they were bait – couldn’t even detonate their own bombs.” How had Draahg gotten the detonator? They must have been given specific charges, from... one of Baras’ plants? Her thoughts scatter and she grimaces, dragging her focus back to the present. “Once I was deep enough inside to not be able to get out in time, Draahg collapsed the cave on me.”

“What, is he trying to get you out of the way?” Vette asks, brow furrowing, and Rkorya shakes her head, hissing when that proves to be a mistake.

“No, it was – stop fussing over me and help me up.” Jaesa compromises, keeping a hand on her shoulder to continue healing, and hooks her other arm beneath her own to pull her into a sitting position, resting her against the rubble. The movement acquaints her with myriad other pains – she’s most worried about her arm, which throbs fiercely in time with the beating of both her hearts. Her wrist is bent at an odd angle, and she can see her bones pressing against her skin, red skin paling from the pressure – the kind of break she’d seen a hundred times on enemies, but the sight of it stirs up that wounded fear again.Better to focus on other things.

“It was Baras.” Broonmark rumbles angrily, a sound which at this moment is a little too much like the cave collapsing. “Quiet,” she orders, and then, “Water.”

Drinking only makes her head pound more, but at least her throat is no longer so dry. Her crew is still watching her as if she might fall over at any moment, but some of the tension has eased – Pierce has gone back to actually keeping guard, and Broonmark sorts through the rubble, dislodging small boulders with enviable ease and a great deal of angry warbling.

“He was always going to betray you,” Jaesa tells her, finally sitting back herself. Rkorya rolls her shoulders experimentally and winces, but the pain is manageable now, at least.

“I know. The first task he had me do was clean up all his old contacts.” She grimaces again at the memory. “It didn’t take much to think of the day when I would know too much for him to let me live. Still, I thought that with the war, he would wait to turn on me.”

“Your mistake was thinking he’d be _reasonable_ about it,” Vette points out. Rkorya finds her lips curling in a sharp smile. It’s true, though – she had gambled on his ambition being held in check by his duty to the Empire. But clearly he sought a Dark Council seat solely for the power and influence it gave, and thought little of the responsibility that came with it. That rankles – she hasn’t misjudged his reach, his influence, but his _temperament_.

“Perhaps I was optimistic,” she admits, and then discards that momentary levity. “How long since you received my signal?”

“Five hours, my lord,” Quinn answers, looking apologetic. “It took an hour to uncover you and begin treatment. We were... quite worried, at first.” She frowns. Five hours unconscious... and she had until the next day to meet her... benefactors? They hadn’t _helped_ her. But they had known her. Wanted her for something.

If they are real and don’t belong to Baras, they might be worthwhile. “Have you found my lightsaber?”

“Oh, I got it!” Vette says, pulling it out and offering it. Rkorya takes it carefully in her right hand, a little awkwardly – she prefers to fight with her left hand, but right now she has little choice in the matter. “Figured you’d want someone to hold on to it until you woke up, in case you got all... stabby.” It’s insolent, but true – she likely would have lashed out if it had been in reach.

“Wise,” she says dryly. “Has anyone else come by to check on the trap?”

Pierce huffs something that might be a laugh, drawing nearer to grin at her. “Some mercs started poking around two hours ago.”

“And?” Rkorya already knows how this story will end, but it’s best to be thorough.

“Well, you know how Quesh is, my lord. All those savage beasts wandering about... they must’ve pissed off a pack, or something. Terrible shame, of course. Guess they’ll never report back now.” He smiles, all teeth and vengeful mirth.

There will be more, of course, once they realize the first squad has gone missing, but it gives them some time to get out of here.

“So Baras has turned on you and left you for dead, as he was always going to,” Jaesa says, gaze intent on Rkorya’s face. “What now, master?” Despite seeing her weakened, she can’t feel even a hint of malice, the desire to capitalize on the clear opportunity she has. It would be far too easy for Jaesa to follow in the footsteps of so many other Sith, striking down those above them to fuel their endless ambition. That she hasn’t is surprising – pleasantly so, but she can’t afford to misjudge her apprentice as she misjudged her master.

“Take note, apprentice. If you need someone dead, don’t rely on a trap like this one. A fight, at the least, is certain – but Baras wouldn’t have wanted to take that risk. He will soon regret that.” She lifts her chin, looking them over one by one. “First, we go back to the outpost and search for any of his watchers there.” And for the two that had managed to find her in the rubble before her crew had arrived. “Then, we hunt him down.”

<We will kill the traitor?> Broonmark asks, flexing his claws. <We will have revenge?>

“I promise you it.” Her breath hisses out between her teeth as she raises her left arm, but she can’t afford to coddle her injuries – time is of the essence. Whoever Baras or Draahg sends next will be more discreet, more careful – just being seen would give up what few advantages she has. “One of you, help me set this.”

As she expected, it _hurts –_ she bites her lip to stifle anything louder than a groan, and it’s well bloodied by the time Quinn is done pressing the bone back into place. Still, she shakes him off when he tries to help her to her feet, and rises on her own, wavering briefly before she gets her balance. It’s important to prove she’s still strong, that she still deserves their respect and obedience.

This taught her much. That being complacent means courting death, that her own priorities can blind her, and that loyalty is worth _more_ than such an ending.

If she makes it through this alive, she will never discard her subordinates so callously.

“We don’t have time to linger here. Let’s move.”


End file.
